Above All Things
by dna2000
Summary: M/M AU. Set in the same universe as my one-shot, 'Hate'. Matthew travels to London, where Mary is currently residing. His arrival forces her to confront her feelings and make a decision as to whether to confess her love for him.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: so, a bit of Sunday-night fanfic for you all. I suddenly fell into a rather sombre, angsty mood a couple of hours ago and this fic wrote itself quite quickly. It began with Mary's feelings, then I realised I could make it into a continuation/prequel of my one-shot called 'Hate'. It may help to read that first, but it's not necessary. If you have read that, this chapter happens after Mary writes the poem. _

_I only anticipate me writing one other chapter, or maybe two depending on what people want/what takes my fancy! xxx_

_..._

"...don't you think so, Mary?"

Having purposefully engrossed herself in cutting her vegetables into tiny cubes, Mary was startled to hear her grandmother's voice address her. Looking up from her plate, she saw a dozen sets of eyes focussed on her expectantly. Amidst them, one set of eyes in particular caught her attention. She'd been studiously avoiding them all evening. They made her breath hitch in her throat, her heart pound, her palms sweat.

Feeling pressure to respond, she forced a bright smile onto her face and took a deep breath before saying, "I quite agree!"

Eleven mouths quickly resumed the conversation, but her grandmother was clearly unconvinced by the charade. Ignoring the raised eyebrow that she herself had inherited, Mary glanced back down to her plate, willing her breathing to return to normal.

...

Four months. It didn't sound like a very long time when one said it. It was the length of the average English winter, after all. It was only half the time that it had taken her father to perish from the date of his diagnosis. Yet, as Mary was discovering, it was enough to make her fall hopelessly more in love with the man that she'd been trying to escape.

She'd had no warning of his arrival that evening - just two hours, which was hardly enough time to prepare herself. Perhaps it had been better that way, though; she didn't know what she'd have done with any extra time, besides fret and edge closer and closer to running away. Not that running away did any good, of course.

These last four months had given her the physical distance from him that she'd felt she needed. But she soon realised after arriving in London that geographic proximity made absolutely no difference. She could have moved to Timbuktu, but she would love Matthew Crawley as deeply as she would if he shared her bed every night. As hard as she'd tried recently, it was increasingly challenging to remember her life before him, to remember a time before every ounce of her being was dedicated to loving him.

Mercifully, she had found a way out of the post-dinner chatter and slipped away to hide in another drawing room. It was exhausting to spend each passing second persuading herself not to look at him, not to listen to his voice, not to admire him, not to let herself fall for him even more.

Some time later, the door opened with a soft click, and the steady rhythm of a stick hitting the carpet alerted her to the identity of the visitor.

"How do you feel, seeing him again?" Violet asked as she carefully perched herself next to Mary. The answer to the question was quite clear - all one needed to do was cast a fleeting glance over Mary's heartbroken features to discern her emotions. It can't have been easy seeing Matthew arrive with his fiancée on his arm, visiting London for one last time before their wedding.

Mary took her time before answering, distractedly picking at the tassels on the end of a cushion. "It's odd..." she began quietly, "you would think that, with him being in the same room, I would feel connected to him again. Like I'd found him." She said. "But...it feels like a _loss_." The silence punctuated her statement. "I feel even more like I've lost him. Forever."

This made sense to Violet. Mary felt like she should have seen it coming. Seeing the man you love with his fiancée, gushing and basking in the glow of pre-marital excitement, inevitably brings reality crashing down around you. There is a finality about it that is unforgiving, undeniable.

They had parted on good terms. Rather, on the best possible terms, given the circumstances. Her father had passed away almost five months ago and Matthew had automatically succeeded him as Earl. He had insisted that she and her family continue to stay in Downton - it had been the only place she'd ever lived in and he wouldn't dream of displacing her, he'd said to her, especially at such a mournful time in her life. But Mary had refused him. How could she live under the same roof as him - as he and his wife? Granted, she would have her own quarters and would not need to see him if she didn't want to, but it would be far too suffocating. She was consumed by him enough as it was. Of course, Matthew had no idea of her reasons for refusing, so had seemed concerned and somewhat upset by her abrupt decision to move to London to live with her Aunt Rosamund. In his willingness to understand, he'd construed her escape as an attempt to be closer to her father's side of the family. She had let him think that, and had moved out the day before he was moving in to the Abbey.

"I was reading one of Papa's old books the other day," Mary said, after a few minutes' of silent thought. "It was about the Tudors...Katherine of Aragon - after Henry VIII severed all ties with her and married another woman - wrote him a letter on her deathbed. Do you know what the last line was?" Mary asked. Violet remained silent, knowing that her granddaughter needed to speak whatever was on her mind, whatever was weighing on her heart, with no interruption. Mary took a deep breath, trying to calm her trembling breaths. "It said, '_Lastly, I make this vow: that mine eyes desire you above all things'." _Mary paused, staring at the carpet by her feet. "I thought it quite fitting. Perhaps I should assign someone the task of delivering my note to Matthew when I finally die." She let out a breath, intended to be a bitter laugh. It quickly transformed into a sob, and soon her whole body was shaking with the force of her weeping.

Violet had presumed her heart to have expired long ago, but she suddenly became aware of its continued presence as she felt it breaking. Her granddaughter - her beautiful, intelligent, charismatic Mary - was not only contemplating her own lonesome, miserable death, but she was almost willing it to come. 'When I _finally_ die', she'd said, with an undercurrent of longing in her tone.

"Oh, my girl." Violet muttered, gathering the small frame of her granddaughter into her arms. "There is no need to be so despondent." She gently patted Mary's back and cradled her head.

"Isn't there?" Mary managed to say through her gasping breaths. She wiped away the tears from her cheeks but more instantly replaced them. "I've lost everything. I feel as if I have nothing without him." She cried, covering her face with her hands. The parties, the dinners, the wealth that her station afforded her - what did any of it matter? There seemed to be nothing, nothing on this Earth that could bring her as much joy as a loving word from Matthew Crawley.

"Mary, you must tell him." Violet said, with such a sudden firmness that Mary was jolted out of her sobs.

"What?" She breathed.

"Nothing will change unless you tell him how you feel." Violet replied.

"Granny, do you hear what you're saying?" Mary was incredulous. "Matthew is getting married in a month!"

"What's the worst that can happen? What do you have to lose?" As much as it pained Violet to admit, it seemed like her granddaughter had sunk to the lowest depths of despair. She was in danger of becoming too settled in that position unless she took some action.

Mary threw her hands up, frustrated and helpless. "He'll laugh at me. He'll think I'm mad, he'll despise me for causing trouble four weeks before his wedding day." She rattled off a list. "He'll spend the rest of his life pitying me." She said forlornly. At least now, with him having no idea of her torturous feelings for him, she could be sure that she had Matthew's respect, and his friendship should she ever need it. It was nowhere near as much as she wanted from him, but she desperately wanted to preserve it - along with her dignity - and the idea of doing anything to risk ruining it didn't bear thinking about.

Violet raised an eyebrow. "Really, my dear? As I understand it, the reason that you are so deeply in love with Matthew is that you deem him to be the best man you have ever known. Am I right?"

Mary nodded a little. It hurt to think of his goodness, knowing that she could never appreciate it fully ever again. She needed to distance herself from him as much as possible. His pure, kind heart belonged to somebody else now.

"Would a man as good as he laugh at someone who professed their love for him? Would a man as good as he show anger in that situation? A lack of understanding? Pity?" Violet asked. Her tone was not as gentle as it could have been, she knew, but she couldn't bear to see Mary sit and wallow like this. The sadness had gone on long enough. She needed to have some sense talked into her.

Mary took another deep breath, dabbing the last of her tears away. "I suppose not. But he's hardly going to call of his engagement and sweep me off my feet, is he?" She said drolly. What good could come of confessing everything to him? It would only leave her feeling more exposed, more vulnerable.

"My dear, I don't wish to give you false hope, but any fool could see how madly in love with you he was-" Violet began.

"That was years ago, Granny." Mary said sharply. She hated the memory of those days, when she alone held his heart in her hands and unknowingly captured his full attention and willing devotion. Yet, in some secret moments, it was those memories that she would cling to in order to lift her spirits. At least she'd had that, and she relived those moments in her mind over and over again for fear of forgetting even the minutest detail.

"I know it was," Violet sighed patiently, "but a love that strong does not fade easily. It takes more than a few years - it takes more than a _war_, even, to erase those feelings. I'm not guaranteeing any particular result," she clarified, "but if you think it unlikely that Matthew will break off his engagement, think of how it will be once he actually weds. I don't claim to know Matthew very well, but I am quite sure that once that young man marries, he will _stay _married, whatever may come his way."

Mary pondered this as soon as the words were spoken, and she continued to ponder it as she went to bed that night. Her grandmother was right. Matthew would never divorce his wife in favour of another woman, even if it meant that he would suffer for the rest of his life. His sense of honour was too great for that.

So this was her last chance. If she didn't speak to Matthew now, before his wedding day, she would have no choice but to endure the rest of her days in silence.

...

_A/N: quite a sad chapter, I know! I have no idea when the next one will be written, as I have UR and Incentive to update as well. I suppose it depends what kind of reaction I get to this and whenever I get inspired to keep writing! Thanks so much for reading xxx ps the title of this fic is taken from that Katherine of Aragon letter, which always makes my heart break. _


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: hello! Thank you so much, lovely readers, for giving me so many reviews on a chapter of an M/M fic that didn't actually have any M/M interaction other than Matthew looking at Mary right at the start! Sorry it's taken so long to get this chapter out, considering the first one only took me about an hour or so! Hope you enjoy xxx_

_..._

After a night devoid of sleep, Mary rose from her bed the next morning with something resembling determination in her heart. It was a welcome change from the dose of helplessness that usually greeted her whenever she awoke to face another day. She almost felt like her old self, her _true_ self - of course, it was only Matthew who could be responsible for bringing this out of her.

This renewed vigour ebbed away throughout the course of the day, however, as it proved near impossible to steal a moment alone with Matthew. He and Lavinia arrived for luncheon and Mary was sat near him, but obviously there was no way she could broach the topic in the midst of their families. Then, Matthew invited her to accompany him on a walk around Mayfair - this seemed promising, until Mary discovered that Lavinia would also be joining them. As the soon-to-be newlyweds were staying at Lavinia's parents' house a couple of miles away, they returned there promptly after their walk and weren't to come back until dinner.

Avoiding questioning looks and intrusive gazes from her grandmother, Mary retreated to her bedroom and tried to read a book. When that didn't succeed in distracting her, she took her own stroll around the surrounding streets and public gardens. As much as she missed Downton, she did adore London and the diversions that it offered. It would never be enough to allow her to forget her problem, but it could provide at least a temporary reprieve.

Dinner arrived slowly but surely. There wasn't as big a crowd as there had been the previous night, much to Mary's relief, although it was still difficult to find an excuse to speak with Matthew privately as they awaited the dinner gong.

"I meant to say - I'm sorry I haven't been able to visit you sooner." Matthew said sincerely. He was stood with her and Rosamund, but his eyes rested on her as he spoke. "We wanted to come two months ago but It's been so busy lately, what with all the wedding planning-" Mary tensed automatically, her fingers clutching her necklace more tightly, "and getting my head around all the details of the estate."

Mary nodded politely. As expected, she'd not been at the forefront of his mind. How she envied him, for having a life to think about. What she would give for some distraction from her perpetual torment.

"Oh, but it's been so interesting for you, hasn't it?" Lavinia interjected cheerily from across the room. "Tell everyone about those lovely tenants you spoke with last week."

Matthew smiled broadly and began regaling the room with stories of his work on the estate and in the village.

...

Pessimistic thoughts of the futility of her pursuit kept interrupting Mary as she prodded at her food with the cold metal cutlery. Matthew had spent the past four months without her and, by all accounts, he had been perfectly happy. So how likely was it that he'd feel the same way as her - that he'd be constantly living with a crippling need for her, that he felt only half-complete without her? Not very likely at all. He was quite awful at concealing his feelings - a quality that Mary had teased and berated him for in the past - and only the most practised of people could mask their torture as well as Mary Crawley.

Her place in his world was on the brink of disappearance. But what was worse, he hadn't deliberately erased her. For a role to be written out, the character must be actively thought of, considered, a strong opinion must be formed of them. It is the same passion that can compel an author to cast out a character that can compel him to reintroduce them to the story. By contrast, Mary felt as if she had been neglected, forgotten. Characters such as her are left to wither away, alone. The author may think of them in future, reminded of them by some random incident, but his memories will be hazy, his mind having been distracted by the main characters that have usurped them.

"Shall we proceed to the parlour?" Rosamund asked the other ladies, interrupting her train of thought.

"Actually, would it be alright if we joined you now?" Matthew asked, looking to the other gentleman apologetically. "Forgive me, but it's just that Lavinia and I promised to drop in on an old friend of hers on our way home and we don't want to leave it too late. We should probably leave in an hour or so."

Mary caught her grandmother's raised eyebrow. She had even less time than she'd anticipated.

The other gentleman assented to Matthew's request, as did the ladies, and everyone began to make their way out of the dining room.

"If you don't do it then I will." She heard Violet mutter under her breath as she passed by.

Inhaling deeply, Mary took her time to fold her napkin and rise from her chair, waiting for Matthew to finish his conversation with a family friend. Lord Berkeley soon exited the room, and Mary took her chance.

"Matthew," she said, trying so hard to sound like her normal self that she sounded nothing like it at all, "Would you mind if I had a word with you?"

Matthew's eyes widened slightly in a mixture of surprise and concern at her odd tone, but he agreed. Of course he'd agree, Mary thought to herself. She could always count on him - she could visit him on the morning of his wedding and tell him that she was troubled and he'd probably delay the whole event in order to speak to her. He began to pull out a chair for her.

She shook her head. The servants would be up soon to clear the dishes and, even though they would leave immediately, she didn't want any interruptions whatsoever. "Not here - maybe in the library?"

Nodding, Matthew gestured for her to lead the way, commenting good-naturedly on how he should be more familiar with luxurious townhouses, like all the other Earls were.

"Did you want to talk about anything in particular?" Matthew asked once they'd arrived in the library, glancing around the room as if to search for the topic of their conversation.

Mary's throat dried up. She hadn't expected to be asked so bluntly. But then, what had she expected? Of all the thoughts that had run through her mind during the day, she hadn't planned how to _begin_ her confession. "I just-" she too searched the room with her eyes, for inspiration, "I have some of Papa's old things here and thought you might want to take some back to the Abbey."

Matthew's eyes lit up but a gentle frown soon spread over his brow. "Are you sure you won't want to keep them?"

"I'm sure," Mary nodded resolutely, "I'll keep my favourites but the rest can go back. It's where they belong, anyway."

Matthew smiled at her sympathetically and approached the bookshelf behind her. Thankful for the time that she had bought herself, Mary joined him and they began flicking through all the books, pamphlets and records lining the walls.

"Hmm," She heard Matthew hum from beside her after a while.

"What is it?" She asked, peering over to see what he held in his hands.

"This-" Matthew held up a record that Mary didn't recognise. "It came out just before the war broke out. I always liked it, but-" he paused and a slight blush rose up his cheeks, "I never had the chance to dance to it."

A smirk formed on Mary's face and she raised an eyebrow, her earlier discomfort forgotten. "Dance? I recall a rather heated debate with you soon after we met wherein you expressed a solid disdain for dancing."

Matthew chuckled softly, "I did dislike it until-" he broke off abruptly, his smile faltering, and cleared his throat awkwardly. "Until, erm, just before the war." He said hurriedly, busying himself with reading the text on the back of the record-sleeve.

A breath caught in Mary's throat. Matthew grew to like dancing just before the war broke out? He could only be referring to Sybil's season. They had danced there for the first time, and for several times after that. Had he cherished those moments that they'd spent together, in a tender half-embrace, as much as she had?

She was suddenly overcome by the need to recapture that feeling of restrained intimacy. "Well, what about now?" She said, her voice almost catching at the end with nerves. It was a bold suggestion.

A lop-sided smile formed on Matthew's face and he quickly placed the record on the nearby gramophone, the needle crackling on the vinyl before a slow, sweet song began to play. "It would be my pleasure." He said warmly. He playfully bowed before her with an outstretched hand, and Mary couldn't help but grin at his boyishness.

Placing her hand in his, she allowed herself to be gently drawn to him and they easily fell into hold, as if they'd danced together a thousand times before. Through the fabric of her dress, she felt his fingers moving on her waist as he adjusted his grip on her, and it sent a ripple of goosebumps over her skin.

Deferring to the soft music playing around them, they swayed quietly. It was as if the world was standing still for them. Nothing else, nobody else, mattered. If somebody offered Mary a choice between the life she'd been leading for the past four months, living in extravagance and with all of society at her feet, or a lifetime of standing in Matthew's arms, in the same room and dancing to the same song repeatedly, she would choose the latter without batting an eyelid. It was ludicrous that something so simple could be so exhilarating.

"I trust you're looking after the big house?" She said with a small smile, fondly adopting the little nickname that Matthew had created.

Matthew dropped his head and blushed slightly. "I hope so." He said, then looked up to meet her eyes. "I think you'd be the best judge of that, though. You really should come back to visit soon." He was looking at her meaningfully.

Mary averted her gaze. He was on the cusp of asking her to move back there and she couldn't bear it.

"I meant what I said before you left, Mary." Matthew continued determinedly. "I may be the Earl in name but that doesn't mean that I alone should have all the input into its management, or take all the credit. Your father taught me a lot but I am sure that you know even more."

Mary remained silent. She had developed a habit of fidgeting whenever she was nervous and she was trying her hardest to resist fidgeting with his fingers or his lapel.

"Please just think about it." Matthew asked.

She couldn't deny him. And part of her didn't want to either. It had been her dream to be able to have a say in how Downton was managed. Matthew was right - she knew more than anyone, more even than her mother, about the land and the issues that faced it. And here she was being handed that opportunity on a silver platter, the opportunity to take care of her home alongside the dearest friend and love that she'd ever had, and she couldn't accept. But how lucky she was, how lucky they all were, to have had Matthew as the heir. Someone they could trust so completely to respect their ancestral property and consider their wishes.

"You've been very quiet lately." Matthew said, playful surprise in his tone. Mary realised that it had been a few minutes since Matthew had last spoken - they were now dancing to a different song. "I hope the exhausting London social scene hasn't drained all the life out of you." He joked lightly.

"Not quite." Mary replied with a smile. "Not yet, anyway." She paused for a moment. She felt, rather than saw, Matthew's expression shift to a questioning one. "Aunt Rosamund is rather keen on attending anything that she can get herself invited to, then insists on dragging me along with her."

Matthew chuckled. "She's still hunting for a husband, then?" He said knowingly.

Mary's smile lifted at the sound of his gentle laughter, and at the reminder that he knew her family so well. "Her criteria are becoming increasingly flexible. Age is no longer an issue. Last week she flirted with both a grandfather and a twenty-six year old in the time it took for our soup dishes to be taken away!"

Matthew laughed more, and Mary laughed with him. She had forgotten how beautiful it felt to be so open and free with what she said. There was no need to censor her thoughts, for they wouldn't be met with any judgment. She didn't have this privilege with anyone else.

"Poor Aunt Rosamund. I suppose we mustn't blame her for wanting to find a companion." Matthew reasoned.

"No, but I don't see why she needs me to go everywhere with her." Mary replied.

"You don't?"

"Well, I suppose she wouldn't want to arrive at a dinner party alone."

"Perhaps..." Matthew said slowly, "but I'm afraid to say that I think she may be using you as bait." He smiled at her.

Mary quirked her head to the side. "What do you mean?"

Matthew's mouth shifted shape as he sought the appropriate words. "Aunt Rosamund wishes to secure a man, so...she would naturally want to have something - or someone - with her to ensure that men are attracted to her. Or to the vicinity." His cheeks grew increasingly flushed as he spoke.

A fluttering grew in Mary's stomach at the knowledge that he still considered her to be attractive. She had spent so long feeling undesired and unwanted by him - because she had convinced herself that that was the case - and it gave her a rush of excitement and relief to know that she hadn't been entirely correct.

Nevertheless, she didn't want to prolong the topic when it would be inappropriate to do so. "I wouldn't put it past Aunt Rosamund to use such underhand tactics." She said, her eyes sparkling.

Matthew smiled down at her, and they continued to dance in comfortable silence for a little while longer. Eventually, Mary heard him sigh.

"What is it?" She asked with a concerned frown.

"Nothing much," Matthew shook his head dismissively to indicate that it wasn't anything serious, "I was just wondering when I'd next be able to see you. It probably won't be for another couple of months or so."

Mary nodded slowly, his observation acting as a prick to her bubble of utter contentment. "Of course - with the wedding and the honeymoon and adjusting to married life you'll be much occupied." She conceded reluctantly.

"It's a shame, though," Matthew said, and Mary darted her eyes back to him, startled to hear him express anything less-than-positive about his upcoming nuptials, "I hardly got a chance to speak with you properly during this visit, and now I have to leave." He said, genuine regret in his countenance. "I suppose I'll see you at the wedding events, but..." he trailed off with a shrug, as they both knew they wouldn't get a chance to spend time together amidst all the hustle and bustle.

Mary's expression fell into a deep frown and she bit her lip pensively. Now was the time. If she didn't say anything now, she'd never be able to. It was hardly the kind of thing to be revealed in a letter or a telephone call and the distance would render the task even more difficult. Now, she was in his arms and could see his face, and her love for him was at its most vivid.

"Mary?" Matthew asked, looking at her curiously. He was obviously wondering why she suddenly seemed so serious. "What is it?"

What could she say? That everything she did, every minute task in her day, was done with him in mind? That he could make her world both heaven and hell, depending on which memory of him she chose to dwell on? That she would sell all her worldly possessions if it meant that she could spend even a few days in wedded bliss with him? That she would care for him no matter what befell him? That she would die for him?

"I - I'm still in love with you."

...

_A/N: please let me know your thoughts - I have a small start on the next chapter but I need some motivation to get the rest of it out. I also can't decide how long I want to make this story i.e. whether I should just deal with this conversation and the immediate aftermath, or more...hmm...anyway, thanks for reading! xxx_


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: sooooo sorry for the long delay! These last few weeks have been crazy for me and I just didn't have the time to even think about writing. Thankfully this weekend was quiet so I have had time to update this fic. I can't believe how many of you are enjoying it, and so sorry to leave you on such a cliff-hanger! Without further ado..._

_..._

The silence was deafening.

It sounded so simple when she said it. All the pain and longing that she had endured for months, for _years_, distilled to a few short words.

Mary's breath had stopped but her heart was somehow beating fiercely against her chest at double-speed. Matthew was stood before her with wide-eyes and parted lips. His expression was unreadable beyond the obvious fact of him being stunned by her sudden admission. They had stopped moving but they were still in hold and the soft music continued to swirl around them. Time stood still.

Slowly, Mary could see the life begin to flow through Matthew's veins again and the cogs begin to whir in his brain. His mouth opened and closed rapidly as he tried to decide what to say.

"You're..." He eventually rasped, his voice hoarse.

Trembling, Mary nodded her confirmation. She didn't want to have to say it again, not when she was still so unsure of his reaction. He wasn't giving anything away yet.

He stepped away from her, dropping his arms and turning away from her, and Mary instantly felt cold, both from the loss of contact and the fear she held. Had grandmother had assured her that it would be a great relief to finally confess her love to him, but she didn't feel that way yet. She was suddenly aware of the tiny part of her that had envisioned a glorious moment between the two of them, with Matthew's expression instantly breaking into a beaming smile as he confessed that he reciprocated her love. It was foolish to expect such a scene to unfold, she knew, but there would be no point in telling him unless she considered there might be a slight possibility of it ending well.

He turned back to her, her heart skipping several beats as he opened his mouth to speak, before he again gave up on speech. He looked out of the window as if searching for help, his arms fidgeting helplessly by his sides.

As much as she understood his shock and wanted to allow him the time to process her revelation, the wait had grown unbearable.

Tentatively, she spoke. "Please - say something."

To her surprise, Matthew spun around immediately; it was as if her words had injected into him the ability to speak.

"What do you mean?" He asked firmly.

The question took her aback. Of all the responses she'd expected - frustration at why she hadn't told him sooner, anger at her confessing when he was on the cusp of wedding another woman - she hadn't anticipated a request for elaboration on her feelings.

"What?" She automatically asked.

"What do you _mean_?" Matthew repeated impatiently. "When you say that you..." he hesitated over the phrase, "_love_ me...what do you mean?"

Now it was Mary who gaped and looked around helplessly. Never mind the impossibility of finding a way to verbalise her love for him, how could she possibly face relating it all to him in detail? "I should think it's quite self-explanatory, Matthew." She let out a breathy laugh in an attempt to evade the question. But Matthew's expression was deadly serious. This was possibly the most serious that she'd ever seen him, and she knew that he deserved a proper answer. "I..." She swallowed and forced herself to take a deep breath to steady herself. This may be one of the most important conversations of her life, but Lady Mary Crawley never let her nerves show. "I suppose I've found myself thinking of you all the time...and I don't seem able to stop. Even when I try to." Mary took another deep breath. "At first I thought I was just missing your company. But it's more than that. It almost hurts. And I keep cursing my younger self for not appreciating you properly." She smiled ruefully to herself at the thought of all those wasted years - all that time they could have had together if only she hadn't been so short-sighted.

Feeling that she'd said enough - for now, at least - she looked at him to gauge a reaction. Matthew was once again staring at her, his lips parted, his blue eyes wide and deep. She could have shaken him in exasperation for being so opaque.

"Are you sure, Mary?" He asked urgently, peering at her intently. "I need to know that you're sure." There was too much at stake to risk throwing it away for no real reason. He had placed his faith in her affections once before, only to have his heart shattered. Sometimes he thinks the war saved him; as horrendous as it was, it had given him an escape, enabled him to lead a life a world away from her. But he knew that he wouldn't be able to bear having his hopes dashed for a second time. His heart had only recently repaired itself.

Mary almost laughed in spite of herself. "Of course I'm sure, Matthew! Do you think I'd humiliate myself like this unless I was sure?" However penetrating his gaze was, she wouldn't meet his eyes. It would only make the conversation more difficult.

"Mary..."

She couldn't help but respond to the sound of his deep voice calling her. It had called for her so many times, in so many different ways. Tersely, when in the midst of an argument about something trivial. Apologetically, when he worried that he had truly offended her as they bickered. Adoringly, as his soft lips brushed against hers so tenderly. Pleadingly, as he called for her from his bed or wheelchair for assistance. However he said her name, there had always been a warmth and familiarity to it - somehow even from the moment they'd met - that she'd found comforting.

Now, he was imploring her to meet his eyes, and she did so. His expression had softened, to her relief, but she knew that he was still far from accepting what she'd revealed to him.

"Is this why you brought me here? Why you wanted to speak with me?" He asked, his tone less demanding but still insistent.

Mary nodded. A sense of guilt crept into her gut as she felt bad for leading him to the library under false pretences. She was a master of smoothly-crafted alibis and moulding the truth to suit her purposes, but Matthew was the one person she couldn't bear to lie to, even if it was harmless. This was part of the reason she'd felt the need to tell him of the feelings she harboured for him. "I thought I should - I wanted to tell you before..." She trailed off, not wanting to speak of his impending marriage. "I wanted to tell you as soon as I could."

The implicit mention of his wedding seemed to reignite the frustration in Matthew. It reminded him of the position that she was placing him in. What was he supposed to do? He was engaged to Lavinia, and fully intended to carry out the promise that he had made to her. But was he supposed to keep this a secret from Lavinia, if he did marry her? Was he meant to marry Lavinia but never speak to Mary again, to maintain a sense of propriety? There was another option clearly staring him in the face, but he daren't consider it. Not yet.

"Why did you tell me this?" He asked, suddenly fierce. "What do you expect me to do? What are you hoping for?"

Mary crumbled inside. This is the line of questioning that she had been dreading. Weighing her possible responses, she opted for the most honest. She had completely bared herself to him thus far, so she may as well continue. "What do you think, Matthew?" She sighed. "I was hoping for you to tell me that you feel the same way!" She threw her arms up and let them fall limply to her sides, as if acknowledging the futility of this wish.

Her bluntness appeared to have had an effect on Matthew. He'd expected to have to ask more questions, to wrangle the answer out of her from behind her permanent guard, but she had confronted him with the truth immediately.

"You thought I'd immediately tell you that the feelings were mutual?" He said, angry and almost offended by her presumptuousness.

Mary shook her head vigorously, keeping herself from rolling her eyes at his obtuseness. As well as they knew each other, they could still misread each other spectacularly. "No - that's what I was _hoping_ for. I didn't _expect_ anything in particular. I didn't know how you'd react - I don't presume to know you better than you know yourself." She said defensively.

"The scary thing is that sometimes I think you do." Matthew muttered bitterly under his breath as he shifted on his feet and frowned.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Mary retorted, irritated by his persistent vagueness. Surely he must know how difficult this was for her?

"You knew how this would throw me, confuse me!" Matthew bit back, his voice slightly raised. "Yet you insisted upon telling me. I, on the other hand, had no idea what I was in for when I followed you in here!"

"What exactly are you accusing me of?" Mary exclaimed, taken aback by this abrupt change in his demeanour.

"If you really wanted me to return your sentiments - if that's what you were _honestly _looking for - you would have chosen to tell me this differently. And much longer ago than four weeks before my wedding to another woman!" Matthew was almost shouting now. "But instead you decided to throw this grenade at me just as I'm about to leave here with my fiancée, giving me no opportunity to reflect on it." He began to pace up and down in front of her, the words tumbling out of his mouth with increasing speed as his mind raced with a thousand thoughts. "It's almost as if - as if you've suddenly realised that I'm no longer available. Like it's dawned on you that I'm the best option you have for a husband and you're trying to snatch me back at the last minute!"

Mary could hardly believe her ears. Hadn't her grandmother convinced her - promised her - that Matthew would never say a cruel word to her, especially not after such a huge admission? He was glaring at her and a lump began to form in her throat. She was transported back to that summer's day five years before when he made another set of false accusations to her, regarding her prioritising status over love. Then, at least, it had been him pursuing her. There seemed to be no saving grace in this situation.

"How...How could you think that, Matthew?" She said shakily, fighting to keep the tears from falling down her cheeks. That he could think her so heartless - after all that they'd been through together - was crushing. He knew her better than anyone else in the world and yet he doubted her heart. What did she have left, if not his trust? "This isn't just a game." She whispered. Against her will, she began to sob. Her body shook with each ragged breath. She was too drained to move, so she stood where she was, held her hands to her face and cried in front of him. It didn't matter that he could see her so weak; his opinion of her couldn't sink any lower, could it?

She gasped as she felt an arm wrap around her waist and a warm hand on her face.

"I'm sorry." Matthew said softly, gently trying to pry her hands away from her eyes. She wouldn't let him, so instead he held her close to him. "I shouldn't have said that."

Mary waited a few moments until she was sure she was settled enough to speak, but kept her head concealed from his view. "Don't apologise for saying things that you mean. It would be hypocritical of me to blame you for speaking the truth."

She felt him shake his head. "But I don't mean that, Mary. Please believe me. I was just picking a fight because I didn't know what else to say or do." He sighed and she felt his breath against her temple, where he was resting his head. "Sometimes I feel like I'm at my most comfortable when I'm arguing with you about something or other." He chuckled lowly, and his hand unconsciously rubbed her back. "But you must know that it was a bit of a shock for me to hear that." He said gently, his fingers drawing small circles onto her skin through her thin dress.

Mary leant her head on his shoulder and nodded against it. "I hadn't been planning this to happen this way." She said quietly. "I only decided to tell you last night."

"What made you decide?" Matthew murmured. He remained in their embrace, his fingers continuing to soothingly play over her back. She knew that he wanted to step back and look at her - he always preferred to be able to see her face when they spoke, especially when he was in his wheelchair - but was respecting her wish to hide her face. It made her love him even more.

"Granny. She persuaded me that I would feel better after telling you, rather than keeping it pent up inside." She explained, the strength returning to her voice. It was much easier to speak to him this way; she knew that he wasn't angry and she didn't feel as exposed when he couldn't see her.

"And do you feel better?" Matthew asked with concern.

Mary paused a moment to consider this. "Yes, I suppose I do."

"Good." He replied sincerely.

More confessions were about to escape her lips when she was halted by another bout of self-consciousness. She bit her lip and frowned anxiously. It was important for Matthew to know the extent of her feelings but she didn't want to overdo it, or scare him away.

"Is there something else?" Matthew softly prompted. Clearly sensing her questioning gaze, he smiled against her hairline. "I can feel you fidgeting with my lapel and you never fidget, unless something is troubling you." He reached his own hand up and placed it over hers, his fingers sending goosebumps to her skin underneath the gloves.

Warmed by this display of intimacy, Mary smiled to herself, feeling her cheeks flush. "It's just that - seeing you here, and hearing about your wedding...it inevitably made me think about whether I'd ever marry. I wondered why I'd been finding it so difficult to be taken by someone new, in London of all places. Then I realised why - it's because I've been too busy being yours. In my mind, at least."

This time, Matthew felt the need to step back to look at her. Feeling embarrassed again, Mary tried to qualify her words. "I mean-" she began, but Matthew held a finger up to stop her.

"Is that really how you feel? About me?" He asked disbelievingly. But it was a different kind of disbelief now - it wasn't accusatory, or mistrustful. It was wondrous. As if he never thought that it was possible for Lady Mary Crawley to feel so strongly about a solicitor from Manchester. She had to admit that it did sound ludicrous even to her own ears, when phrased like that. But he was so much more to her than his job or his provenance. And she wanted the opportunity to show him how much he was to her.

Smiling somewhat timidly, she nodded. "Yes." He continued to look at her in wonder. She felt as if he was reading her like a book, but his expression was so tender and boyish that she held his gaze.

"Mary..." There it was. That adoring tone with which he caressed her name. It was sweeter and more beautiful to her ears than any of the songs that had been playing on the gramophone.

"Yes?" She breathed, her pulse beginning to race. His eyes began to settle on her lips before flickering back up to her eyes.

"I-" He moved slightly closer to her, his grip on her waist tightening ever so slightly. He swallowed hard and licked his lips. Mary felt her knees buckle prematurely, as the memory of his kiss grew more vivid. "I want to kiss you." Matthew said lowly, his eyes still focussing on her mouth. "Very much. But-"

Mary's heart sank as soon as he uttered the word. Of course he wouldn't kiss her. He couldn't. It was naive of her to expect that he would. Regretfully, she nodded in acknowledgement. She didn't want to hear him explain the reasons why he couldn't take her in his arms and ravish her. It was enough to know that he wanted to - oh, how wonderful it was to know that he wanted to!

"So...do you?" She asked, hoping he'd catch her meaning. "Feel the same? Or anything like it?"

"I...God, Mary, I need to think about this." Matthew said, removing his hands from her and rubbing one across his forehead. "I don't want to say or do anything rash. I need a little while to think."

It made sense. And it meant the world to her that this was something that he was seriously considering. It didn't mean anything would transpire between them, necessarily - an engagement is not an easy thing to break off, particularly when one is an Earl - but the fact that he had thoughts to mull over was in itself a blessing to her. "Alright. I can wait." She replied.

"Thank you." Matthew said. He was looking at her differently now, as if seeing her in a new light.

The low murmur of muffled voices from outside the door broke the pleasant silence that had settled over them. The dinner guests had apparently decided that if the Earl of Grantham was due to go home there was no point in their staying any longer either.

"I should go." Matthew said pointlessly. Mary detected a hint of regret in his eyes. She smiled at him. He reached a hand up and gently ran his thumb down her soft cheek, tracing the track of a dried tear. "I'll see you soon." He promised.

And with that, he turned, and left.


End file.
